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“Well, girls, prepare your sweetest smiles, and best behavior, for your uncle has arrived at last, and I have just received this note, dated at the Astor, announcing his coming, and accepting my invitation to make our house his home; so, to use his own expression, we may expect him, ‘bag and baggage,’ this evening.”
These words were addressed by Mrs. Medway to her daughters, as they sat at breakfast, in an elegant apartment in a fashionable street up town.
“That means, I suppose, that he comes with an ebony serving-man, in an immense turban, half a dozen hookahs, innumerable packages, and self-indulging contrivances, and all the et cæteras of an eastern nabob,” replied Matilda. “I wonder where we are to stow away all the trash that he will undoubtedly pour in upon us? I wish, mamma, you had not invited him here; but if his coming prove but a golden one to us, I, for one, am perfectly willing to play the agreeable, with so bright a prospect in store.”
“Not so with me,” exclaimed her younger sister Sophy, “I am determined to do as I please, and not be like an automaton, at the will of a cross old invalid, as I have no doubt he is. I suppose we must have great fires built up all summer, and be content to be baked, and browned to crisps, in ovens of rooms, while old yellow-face shivers with cold, and swears at the climate. And then we must live on curries, and spices, and pilaus, and all sorts of horrid nauseous messes, until we are as yellow and bilious as himself. I boldly protest against all such proceedings, and thus, once for all, good people, declare myself free and independent.”
“But recollect, girls,” said their mother, while she laughed at Sophy’s declaration, “he is your father’s brother, and as such entitled to at least an appearance of respect. I wish he was less afflicted to be sure, for it will be a sad drawback, I fear, upon your amusements; but keep up your courage, and remember that to be co-heiresses of an Indian nabob is a distinction very much to be coveted, and worthy some sacrifices to attain.”
“I am sure his deafness will be a great relief to us all,” chimed in Matilda, “so as we play propriety and have plenty of delicate attentions, and wreathed smiles, in readiness, we can indulge once in a while in a theatrical aside of impatience, which will be quite a safety valve to the temper.”
“But if he is an invalid he must necessarily be cross,” answered Sophy, “and as his sight is impaired, he will probably want some one to read to him; that task I absolutely refuse to perform; for as to reading any thing more than the last magazine, it is an effort I never was equal to. We will appoint Grace reader to his Indian majesty. What say you, Grace, are you not overwhelmed with the honor?”
This question was addressed to a quiet girl, who had hitherto taken no part in the conversation, but who replied with a smile, “If your uncle is in reality the disagreeable person you describe, I shall not be emulous of the honor you design me; but if he is in truth an invalid, I will wait on him with cheerfulness, for you know I am accustomed to a sick chamber.”
“That’s just like you, Grace, always ready and willing to do for every one,” answered Sophy. “Of course he is an invalid—all nabobs are. He has the gout, and we must all creep on tip-toe about the room, lest an unlucky jar might give him a twinge, and bring down a volley, not of blessings, upon our devoted heads. Then the liver complaint is a necessary appendage, and blue pills and calomel will abound. Bah! what a house it will be to be sure, I should not wonder if he has a pet monkey and half a dozen macaws, and we shall have a menagerie and hospital combined. If such is the case, I shall run off and get married; so don’t wonder if some morning I am missing.”